


In Decorative Defense...

by Deiwimin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Boltoncest - Freeform, Ficlet, Horniness, Incest, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:56:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deiwimin/pseuds/Deiwimin
Summary: He loves riding down thin paths, ducking his head for branches that fall short. He loves breathing fresh grass and clay after a pour. He loves how red and brown leaves dance with the breeze with every soft trot.
Relationships: Domeric Bolton/Ramsay Bolton
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	In Decorative Defense...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sparrowhound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowhound/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy this birthday fic! ❤ ❤

Autumn brings Domeric ever flowing energy. No overbearing summers’ wind. No exhaustive, burning ice. During the evening, he loves taking his Marcher out, or whichever he wished.

Domeric likes the weight of apple bread from The Mill. It was an arrangement made between his father and Mrs Baxter. Roose had unusual visitors during season, and Domeric quite distinctly remembers Tywin Lannister making himself distantly perennial these days. He’d raise his brow a familiar slight; and Domeric would walk himself away.

He never felt much drawn to their politics. He much preferred a good book, or going out to feed the dogs. He never stood too close though. He'd barely touch the kennel. They were his brother's, and there was a certain way about these girls. Maudie made him slightly wary of dogs all together.

Occasionally he'd enter the empty room. Not too often, but just enough to remember it. He'd fiddle with a pillow or light and leave, not sticking around much. Sometimes his eyes would stretch over every inch, filled with insatiable curiosity. He felt shamefully strange for doing so. It reminded him of Jas describing being in a girl's room. Domeric had of course been into girls' rooms before. It felt long ago, when he had his mother and excitable playmates with tea sets and skipping ropes. Didn’t miss it, nor did it make much for context, but it was something he felt he could keep.

School was starting in just a week, yet somehow he dreaded going away from home. It didn’t matter that he had nothing in common with Walda, and his father’s subtle criticisms were discouraging at best. He wanted to wander about the quiet town and visit the storefronts, find Jasper and the boys and go for a ride or a simple outing. Visit the garden and sit in a lone viney corner for hours.

He liked the idea of having an individual life but perhaps not quite enjoyed it in practice. Domeric can see it the moment he moves the slightest north or south. He always preferred it more when he was home. Then he could watch the silver van pass him early in the morning, watch red flowers grow. And deep in the night he could stare out at the weathered oak tree.

But perhaps he shouldn’t wish to stay.

Tonight was strange. He was in bed, and was Ramsay home already? He recalled him entering the hall when it was bustling and bright, yes. Would it matter? He never showed much interest for conversation or other. In fact Domeric found himself constantly loosing moments to the girls and the grass. Anything was so much more interesting than him.

And yet Domeric’s door clicked swaying. He languidly sat up, parting his covers, only to meet a faint pair of eyes, staring at him, no. Into him. And then Domeric felt him closer. “What are you doing here?” But Ramsay scoffed. He was only wearing his boxers and a tank-top. “Don’t you want me in here?” “No...yes. I just thought you were at your mother’s.” He was given a strange look, and it wasn’t spoken of after, because Ramsay leaned into the bed, crinkling red sheets, taking Domeric along with him.

Ramsay kissed hard. Sometimes beauty comes blank; a blinding, glowing mess. Domeric saw the illuminating lights on Ramsay’s full lips. On his childhood bed, where there was grinding without friction, and heat without the sun. Ramsay feels his thigh, then his chest, and pushes him down, and rolls him up. He does with Domeric all he wants.

Domeric’s shallow breaths sound through his ears. They spread Ramsay’s legs, and give his lips a mirthful smile. Domeric pushes himself in and in and further in, suffocating in pleasure and thoughtlessness.

Then it buzzed loud. Domeric awoke to the cruel morning and cold sweat. He couldn’t possibly bend for an irrational dream. But his mind wouldn’t clear in the field, and his mind would not let him be at dinner. Domeric went back to his room at the end of the day. He couldn’t help himself from tearing through at the depths of his wardrobe. The apron still there, and Domeric took it to bed. His lungs tasted that very essence he burned for.

Domeric breathed in the cloth, his hand inching closer between his legs. His shut eyes reflected Ramsay’s saliva, glistening on his flushed tip. Ripe, glorious lips over his cock, and then it was impossible to shut it off his mind. Heat pooled again and again, passing waves of pleasure, until he felt it through his entire body, coming with the loud bang of the wall. The door slammed so harshly and Domeric clutched onto the piece of old uniform using it as cover, disturbed. There he was, real this time, and he _saw_.

Ramsay stared as if he could see into every one of his lewd thoughts and imaginings. All of the fears and lies Domeric fed himself. And yet his brother smiles, so nonchalant, mocking. “Don’t you have better things to do, Domeric? You’d think you would be studying, or playing that gods awful instrument. Not that they're that much better.” Ramsay reached down and the chaos in Domeric’s head died a little after his arm emerged with a thick cord. "Borrowing time's up." There Ramsay leaned down and pressed a firm, chilling kiss on his cheek. The door hung wide and Domeric soaked in shame.

**Author's Note:**

> Bless for making it to the end! :p


End file.
